


An Unfortunate Complaint

by hiddenquill



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Hay Fever, M/M, Sneezing, sneeze kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:20:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22176193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiddenquill/pseuds/hiddenquill
Summary: Bard has hay fever. Thranduil is amused by his sneezing. And intrigued.
Relationships: Bard the Bowman/Thranduil
Comments: 6
Kudos: 86





	An Unfortunate Complaint

The bowman’s unfortunate reaction to the spring blooms was clearly making him miserable, and Thranduil still couldn’t help enjoying it. 

“Do you suffer this way every spring?” he asked, while Bard mopped his streaming nose and then blew it, an unproductive effort that ended in another furious rub of his handkerchief against his reddening nostrils.  
“Unless I’m on the water,” Bard said. “I usually go down the river to Dorwinion as soon as the ice breaks. I’m not troubled there, and by the time I come back upstream …” He turned away in resignation, and let loose a series of quiet but forceful sneezes. “Ksshhhh! Ksshhhh! Ah-ksshhhh! Once the leaves come out, I’m all right.” 

“That will be a week or more.” 

“I know,” Bard said, and turned his head again. “Hh-ksshhh! I’m afraid I’d better not go down to dinner. I’m no fit company. Hhh …” The sneeze was teasing him, clearly about to come on, but taking its time.  
Thranduil watched with amused interest until his face finally crumpled with the force of it. “Hkkksshhh!” 

“I will have a meal brought up,” Thranduil said. 

He came in once the tray was laid, and settled down to share the meal. 

“You needn’t stay,” Bard said. “I’m still …” He gestured to his scarlet nose and the crumpled handkerchiefs beside him. As if reminding himself of the handkerchief brought on the urgent need for it, he raised it to scrub at his nose. “As you see.” 

Thranduil sipped his wine. “You are not sneezing.” 

“It comes and goes.” He rubbed his nose again, and then his eyes crinkled in what was becoming a familiar resigned expression. 

“And you feel another bout coming on as we speak.” 

“I’m afraid so.” 

He handed Bard a silken handkerchief. “Then you might find this useful.” 

“This is too fine to …” Bard turned abruptly aside. “Ksshhhh! To use to wipe a streaming nose. Hhh-ksshhh! Hggxxt!” He stifled a sneeze against the back of his fingers, and said hurriedly, as if trying to get the words out before the next bout, “I’d best stick with my own. It’s … hh-ksshhhh! Not a tidy affliction.” He blew his nose into his own crumpled handkerchief as if by way of demonstration.  
“Yours is too rough,” Thranduil said, and relieved him of it, pressing the silk into his hand in exchange. “The irritation will only worsen your affliction.” 

Bard dabbed at his nose cautiously, and then smiled a little. “That does feel good. But I still hate to sneeze into something so fine.” 

“It is its function.” 

“Do elves sneeze, then?” 

“Rarely.” His nose was easily irritated for an elf, a consequence of his old injuries, and though it was true he rarely felt the need to sneeze, when an incautious breath of smoke or chill air did provoke the reflex, the sneezing fit that followed was furious and rarely abated until his head was ringing and his throat raw. 

“Then you are fortunate,” Bard said, and turned away again. “Hkkssshh!” 

“The handkerchief,” Thranduil said, and walked around to stand behind Bard. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Insisting.” 

“A moment, I …” Bard said, and turned his head. Thranduil plucked the handkerchief from his hand and clapped it to Bard’s face, feeling him stiffen in surprise and then sneeze unavoidably into it, a warm mist through the silk against his palm. “Hkksshhhhh!” 

“Better.” 

Bard ducked his head, pressing his nose against Thranduil’s hand. “I warn you, there are more.” 

“I can see that.” 

“Kssshhh! Ksshhhhh! Hhh … ksshhhh!” He took a relieved breath, and started to turn away, but Thranduil could feel his next breath coming shakily, and see the tension returning to the corners of his eyes.  
“You are not finished.” 

“Truly, I am. I’ve embarrassed myself enough.” 

Thranduil watched him struggling not to sneeze again. It was an interesting effort to watch, but clearly an uncomfortable one. When he thought the struggle had gone on long enough, he took the corner of the handkerchief and ran it inside one irritated nostril. 

The result was immediate and gratifying in its violence. 

“Hattcchhhhoooo!” Bard drew a shaky breath, his expression alarmed, and Thranduil could see that the urge to clear his nose of its merciless tickle had possessed him utterly. “Hkksshhh! Ksshhhh! Kssshhhh! Ksshhhhoooo!” He drew another shuddery breath. “Ksshhhhh! Ksshhhh! Ksshhh! I can’t … ksshhhh! Can’t stop. Heh, ksshhhhh! I truly can’t. Heh, hhhhh ….” 

“Come and lie down,” Thranduil said, feeling the first flicker of alarm himself. 

“Ksshhhh, ksshhhh! Ksshhhoo!” 

He had to steer Bard to the furs. Bard sprawled on him, his fist pressed against Thranduil’s shoulder, burying his face in the handkerchief wadded up in his fist as he sneezed and sneezed. He was visibly near exhaustion by the time the fit began to ease, and gasped gratefully for breath. 

“I hate it when it comes on so hard,” Bard said. “Ksshhhh! I do have to breathe. Hhh-ksshhh!” 

“I did not mean to provoke that violent an attack.” 

“You didn’t know. Tickling my nose when I’m already set to sneezing … ksshhh! Not a good idea. Hhh-ksshhh! Save it for when it’s passing off, and I’m dying to sneeze but can’t get it out without a struggle. There are times I’ve stuck my nose in a blossom I knew gave me the sneezes because I was that desperate just to get it over with.” 

“And yet it was an interesting reaction,” Thranduil couldn’t help saying. 

“Interesting, was it? I hope I get to see you sneeze like that someday.” 

“You might. It is rare, as I said. But they are … difficult to stop once provoked.” 

“And what provokes you?” 

It was unwise to tell him, and yet he felt he should make some amends for the exhausting sneezing attack he had caused. “The brazier smoke will do it, if I lean over it and breathe deep.” 

Bard scooped coals from the brazier into a metal dish and held them close. “Will this do?” 

The scent roused the instinctive urge to push the dish away, which suggested it would. He raised it to his face without answering and, against every instinct, drew in a deep breath of its heavily scented smoke through his nose. 

He pushed the dish away, barely aware of Bard setting it aside, and felt the reaction taking him over. “Hrraacchhhhhh! Hsshhhhaaccchhhh! Ksshhhacchhhh! Hhh …gsshhhhhhachhhoooo! Hhhh … hrrachhhhhh!” The scent still burned in his sinuses, a furious itch just this side of pain, demanding another sneeze every time he tried to take a normal breath. “Ahh …” 

Bard was rubbing his back, unexpectedly steadying. “Get them all out.” 

“Hggssshhhhhhoooo! You see.” 

“I do,” Bard said wryly. “Are you done?” 

“I devoutly hope.” 

“Hhh … ksshhh! Not again.” 

“Again, I think,” Thranduil said, and let Bard lean on his shoulder to sneeze and sneeze.


End file.
